The Virgin Rule Book (Rules of Love 1) by Lauren Blakely (best fiction novels of all time txt) 📗

I sit down next to her, grabbing the jewel-like shoes from the box and sliding my left foot into one. “Tell me everything, you secret keeper.”

She lifts her face, sporting a smile she can’t contain. “I have a dinner date this weekend in Napa.”

“With who?” I ask, desperately needing the answer.

“Crosby’s mom is setting me up with a man she knows,” she says, borderline giggling. It’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

“Who is he? Is he an upstanding citizen? Does he recycle? Does he have a decent job? Did he go to college?” I ask, peppering her with the same sort of questions she’d pepper me with. “And, most important, does he like dogs?”

I fasten the strap of the shoes as I wait for her answers.

“He’s originally from Sydney. He owns a couple of vineyards.”

I smile. “Great. So he likes wine. Point in his favor.”

“He donates to a local animal shelter. In fact, he’s one of the biggest donors.”

Nice, I mouth approvingly.

“He came here for college. Went to UCSF. He recycles and composts.”

I sigh dreamily. “And I bet he has a dog.”

She holds up two fingers. “Both rescue mutts. And he likes live music.”

I glance at the ceiling, hands up, like angels have sent this man from on high. “Let me guess. James Taylor, Melissa Etheridge, and Jackson Browne. Am I right?”

She smacks my leg. “I’m not that old.”

“You’re right. Melissa Etheridge is not quite as old as those guys.”

“Did you think someone my age would prefer Katy Perry?”

“No. You’re so not a Katy Perry person. But you are so a Jackson Browne person.” I raise a finger to make a point. “And therefore you are exactly that old.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine, fine. I love Jackson Browne. My ’70s heart is pitter-pattering. I can’t help myself.”

“Is he taking you to that Jackson Browne concert this weekend? I heard there’s one in downtown Napa.”

She shoots me an I’m so impressed look. “Yes, that’s where our date is. You know everything.”

“Hey, it’s my job to be knowledgeable about all things Bay Area. Also, I’m talking to a number of people for the GM job and one of the people I interviewed this week lives there, and he mentioned that he’s going to it too.”

“How is the quest for a GM going?”

As I try on the shoes, I tell her about the candidates I’ve met so far this week and the others to come in the weeks ahead. “I want to find someone who can negotiate the trades and the personnel changes I need to make a big splash. Someone who knows exactly how to bring the Lombardi Trophy back to the Hawks. I want to live up to Dad’s reputation.”

She pats my leg, flashing me a warm smile. “He would be proud of you, holding your own in the job. You’ve done a great job the last few years, and you’ll keep doing it.”

A lump forms in my throat. “Thanks, Mom. I needed to hear that. Some days are hard and busy.” I gesture to the shoes. “But shoes make hard days easier. You need to buy those shoes. Actually, I’m going to get them for you as a gift for your date.”

She smiles. “Thank you. That’s very sweet of you.” Then her expression falters, her smile fading away. “Nadia, do you think it’s terrible that I’m dating again? Would he be upset?”

I squeeze her shoulder, shaking my head adamantly. “He loved you so. He’d want you to be happy. Don’t forget that note he wrote.”

She brings her hand to her mouth. A tear slides down her cheek.

Tears well in my eyes too as a memory flickers before me. My father’s decline was fast and furious. In some ways that was for the best. He didn’t have to suffer for long. When I was at the hospital with him, he asked me to help him write a note for his wife.

He wanted her to be happy again. He wanted her to go out and find love. The kind that they’d had.

“Don’t let your mother mourn me for too long. She’s young and vibrant. She’ll want to love again. And you need to keep reminding her that that’s what I would want for her,” he told me.

We wrote a brief instructional manual for me to give any man dating her after he passed. Though, not on a first date.

Instructions for dating my wife: You must keep up with her, like puzzles, enjoy gardening, recycle as much of everything as possible, be able to banter about the news, cook a meal now and then, but also take her out to the best restaurants in the city, as well as a dive bar occasionally because she loves those. It helps, too, if you can bake, because she has quite a sweet tooth. Most importantly, she has the biggest heart in the world, and if you break it, I will haunt you forever.

I memorized every beautiful word. Replaying them in my head brings a surge of emotion to my heart. A lump to my throat.

“He doesn’t want to have to haunt this guy,” I whisper, fishing in my purse for my handy tissues to dab the threat of tears. “So yes, Mom, he’d be very happy.”

She nods a few times, a small smile playing across her lips, rearranging her frown. “I think he would too.” She takes a beat to compose herself. “What about you and Crosby? You seemed to enjoy each other at the wedding.”

Enjoy is putting it mildly.

I savored it.

I fantasized about it.

I’ve gotten off to it.

But I’m not telling that to my mom.

I zoom in on the practical matters of Crosby and me. “We’re going to the Sports Network Awards later this week. I’m looking forward to it,” I say, trying desperately to maintain a straight face even though I’m giddy with excitement about seeing him in less than forty-eight hours.

She arches a wry brow. “Are you dating him?”

I kind of wish I were.

But there’s no